


infinity as just a memory

by wordswithinmoments



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Reader-Insert, Slice of Life, post breakup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:09:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28308792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordswithinmoments/pseuds/wordswithinmoments
Summary: kuroo tetsurou is the love that comes to you and teaches you the meaning of both infinity and letting go.
Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou & Reader, Kuroo Tetsurou/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 36





	infinity as just a memory

sometimes, a love comes your way just to teach you about the art of why you need to let it go.

like old pine and golden eyes. a witty mouth, tattoos inked from elbow to wrist on impulse, and a love that felt like infinity despite the sight of the inevitable end.

kuroo tetsurou _was, is,_ and _will always_ be—without fail—many things.

two christmases ago he _was_ love; today a lesson, and when you breathe deep—you know five years later he will just be a memory.

and it’s okay, because today when you inhale, you don’t hold your breath. you see him across the grocery store, a ring on his finger, and a cereal brand that isn’t yours next to his on the cart, and you exhale just fine.

when you say hello, you say it like he’s just an old friend. where after he replies, with kindness, because at the root of who he was—tetsurou had always been kind.  
  


you tell him congratulations, then merry christmas. he says his thanks, then a practiced spill of his own greetings, before smiling at you like you’re just a memory as he turns and walks away.

you see later, when you pass him again that he buys orange juice instead of the apple he’d pick before, and it dawns on you then that just like you, he’s also grown. he used to grimace at citrus, but when he looks at the bottle, you see that he’s smiling. the jug of apple juice sits next to it on the shelf, and you realize that even though apple had been his everything three years ago, in the present he had grown to apple just being an option.

(and it’s okay.)

you’re standing next in line to pay for the contents in your own cart that looks sort of the same and sort of different from three years ago when you dip your toe into history.

 _really,_ you smile, _you’re okay._

you love the same, and hurt the same.

when you love, you feel it come to you in tentative steps at the start before eventually it’s you who’s running to meet it past the middle. when you hurt, you still cry. soft sobs that sound like heartache in the night, where the arms you wrap around your own frame always manage to calm you down and remind you that even if the world turns—you would _always_ be yours.

today, more than ever, as you stare at the pieces of kiwi instead of apple from three years ago next to the carton of the same kind of eggs you’ve been getting for years—something in your heart clicks at the thought that you’ve always, _truly_ had you all along.

you may not have a ring on your finger, a lover to kiss under the mistletoe, but you have you.

you have love, and life, the presence, and the fruits of your growth.

three christmases ago, it’s only briefly where remember that it was tetsurou standing in line with you. kiwis in the cart with a carton of apple juice right next to it. he kissed you in the parking lot and in the car, at every red light, and at the driveway of what _was_ home.

when you told him, “i love you,” you spoke it out loud instead of whispering it, because you felt as if you had no secrets to keep from the world. love, to you, had always been speaking it out loud and letting it just _be._

tetsurou loved you in the subtle ways, and when you think back, you suppose the memory of it remains subtle too.

you ran past the midway point, while he was still strolling three steps away from his start. the taste of apple was your middle ground, and for a while, it worked, until it didn’t.

(and it’s still okay.)

because in love, is loss. then in loss, comes growth.

apple juice to orange. apple slices to kiwi. _ily_ as i love you to _ily_ as i’m leaving you, where saying “i left you,” doesn’t leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

you walk alone to the parking lot and stare at the sky. the memory of clutching onto tetsurou’s arm remains vivid in your head, but your heart doesn’t ache. love was like that too: lasting.

sometimes love as infinity means this lifetime until the next, and sometimes it’s just a memory.

(it’s okay, you say. it really is.)

you mean it, because when you see his car drive out of the parking lot and into the highway, you don’t do what you did before and wait a few minutes to leave. tonight, you realize that your hand is on the steering wheel, the key’s in the ignition, and the only thing you need to do to dive in motion is to let go of the brakes.

his car’s in front of you for the first ten minutes of the drive. the same stop and start; turns and exits. until the last part where there’s only two turns to make it home.

you go left while he goes right.

you cry; not of loss, but of surrender.

(god, you’re more than okay, and the feeling of realizing that has you feeling high.)

truth is, even if it felt like you almost made it—neither of you meant to keep driving straight. your turn towards the left while his to the right is where you were meant to be from the start. love stories prewritten to start just to end are okay, because they are still complete.

kuroo tetsurou was destined to be a lesson from day one.

you sob a little harder when you see the lights in your driveway that tells you you’re home.

and it hits you.

you put your car in park, take out the key, and sit back for a bit. sleeves of your sweater pressed to your eyes, you cry just a little more.

you surrender, and it feels okay.

you made it, you realize.

you’re home.

 _this_ is it.

(and it’s still okay.)


End file.
